That caught him off-guard, and a protest threatened to well up and just as quickly died before it got past his chest. The sudden sharp edge to Miles' voice, the way he moved in a crisp rustle of linens and grabbed his arm, as if . . . As if I'm going to turn into just another one of the people who leaves him.
Though I guess I already did, didn't I?
"Miles. I'm just going to the closet." He dislodged his arm as gently as he could, curling Edgeworth's hand shut and kissing it in an attempted reassurance before reaching for the dresser to pull himself upright. He gave himself a few seconds once he was up, then took the few steps until his hand brushed the reassuring solidity of the desk, ghosting fingertips over the clean surface until he found the flashlight. He clicked it on low, using it to make his way the rest of the way to the closet and pull the door open.
He frowned at the row of gray garments, sliding them to one side and finding the suit way back in the corner. What does he think I am, crazy? The simple thought of going back up there made his spine crawl, never mind the fact that he was pretty sure that, even if for some reason he felt like he needed to go back there, he wouldn't even get past the stairs before the night was out.
You tell me, Mr. Making Sure I Don't Lose Murderous Dead Ex-Girlfriend's Picture.
It- it's not like that. He kept himself from shaking his head, if barely, pulling out the photo and barely glancing it before stuffing it hurriedly in the pocket of the jacket with unsteady hands. It's just evidence.
There was no inner rebuke, asking evidence of what, against whom. Phoenix knew that question didn't even need to be asked.
Re: Inside M92
Though I guess I already did, didn't I?
"Miles. I'm just going to the closet." He dislodged his arm as gently as he could, curling Edgeworth's hand shut and kissing it in an attempted reassurance before reaching for the dresser to pull himself upright. He gave himself a few seconds once he was up, then took the few steps until his hand brushed the reassuring solidity of the desk, ghosting fingertips over the clean surface until he found the flashlight. He clicked it on low, using it to make his way the rest of the way to the closet and pull the door open.
He frowned at the row of gray garments, sliding them to one side and finding the suit way back in the corner. What does he think I am, crazy? The simple thought of going back up there made his spine crawl, never mind the fact that he was pretty sure that, even if for some reason he felt like he needed to go back there, he wouldn't even get past the stairs before the night was out.
You tell me, Mr. Making Sure I Don't Lose Murderous Dead Ex-Girlfriend's Picture.
It- it's not like that. He kept himself from shaking his head, if barely, pulling out the photo and barely glancing it before stuffing it hurriedly in the pocket of the jacket with unsteady hands. It's just evidence.
There was no inner rebuke, asking evidence of what, against whom. Phoenix knew that question didn't even need to be asked.